


Overcooked 2 - The Origin Story

by basikilos



Category: Overcooked (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29134035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basikilos/pseuds/basikilos
Summary: We all know the story of how Onion King accidentally summoned the UnBread using the Necronomnomicon, triggering the events of Overcooked 2. But how did book fall into the hapless king's possession? Here is the untold story of how Onion King and Scallion King discovered the Necronomnomicon.





	Overcooked 2 - The Origin Story

As I sit in my carriage, transported towards destiny, my mind ferries me back to days of old. There are few who can remember the days when I was a nobody – just a young chef, seeking to find a kitchen of his own in the great wide world. Now, as Tulos, Scallion King, I rule justly and fairly over my many sous-chefs and line cooks. But there are some skeletons in my pantry, and I still bear the burden of my indiscretions to this day.

* * *

When we were first young chefs, Onion King – back then, he was just Cep – and I set off on that holy expedition that all chefs must undertake: the search for the Holy Ravioli Grail. This was a fabled cup of overflowing, never-ending pasta – each piece cooked to _al dente_ perfection, each of the eternally fresh dumplings stuffed full of cheese, meat, and vegetables that would never spoil.

To be honest, I don’t believe the Holy Ravioli Grail even exists – it’s just an excuse for the head honchos to send out young, hot-headed sous-chefs to teach them a little humility and to keep them from getting underfoot in the kitchens. Naturally, nobody ever expected anyone to actually _find_ anything. I thought that we would traipse about the Cinnamon Spice deserts, bring back some novel recipes from the nomads of the Matcha Mountains, wander about the Star Anise sand dunes, and return from our expedition weathered and more experienced, but sans the Holy Ravioli Grail, as all fifth-year chefs did.

But while we were on our travels, we uncovered something else. Something far less benevolent, something that brimmed full of evil intent and whispered sweet temptations to us.

I remember the day as though it were yesterday, every detail fresh in my mind, fresher than the basil that I use in my recipes. How could I possibly forget the day on which our lives changed forever?

We’d gotten horribly, terribly, lost in the Ruins of Teflon on the Nonstick Plains. I’m not sure whose idea it had been to head to that area – probably Cep, who, unlike myself, still dreamed of finding the Ravioli Grail and establishing his name as the legendary chef who accomplished the impossible. Nobody went to the Ruins of Teflon, and Cep rationalized that the Ravioli Grail was likely to be in a spot that had not been well-explored by otherwise daring epicures.

But there’s a reason why the Nonstick Plains have never been explored in depth before. Too many promising young chefs have gone in there, only to never return. But Cep and his eternal optimism persuaded me, against all reason, to accompany him to the Plains.

We should have turned back the moment the storm started. A higher being, maybe even the Great Chef de Cuisine in the Sky himself, had seen us coming and was trying to turn us away from what lay lost in the ruins. Instead, we plowed relentlessly forward, lured by the hope of the Ravioli Grail.

There, at the center of the Ruins of Teflon, we found it. The Necronomnomicon. Fluoropolymer fumes smoked from the altar on where it sat, and the mouth embedded in the center of the cover licked its lips as it called to us. To this day, I can still recall that strange mix of revulsion and longing that struck me to my very roots. What did it promise me? Well, reader, I am ashamed to say that it promised me all the poultry – excuse me, paltry – things that young chefs wish for. For our bakes to never again have soggy bottoms, for our meat to always be perfectly cooked, for all our recipes to earn 3 Michelin stars. Young and foolish as I was, I was tempted.

Here, the fault lies squarely with me; I could not resist its siren call. As we ran to take cover from the storm, I snatched the book from the altar and shoved it deep within my backpack.

When we finally made it back to our camp, reason had returned to my mind. My pack had been stuffed full of flour and rice, and the Necronomnomicon’s voice was muffled, its tantalizing offers no longer understandable.

Cep turned to address me.

“Tulos, I never believed that the Necronomonomicon was anything more than a fiction, but I know that the unholy knowledge that it contains should be scrubbed from existence. We set off in search of the Holy Ravioli Grail; to bring back the cursed Necronomnomicon would be the most laughable of ironies.”

“I most wholeheartedly agree,” I replied. It was then that we came up with the idea to burn the wretched thing. After the storm had wrought its wrath, we built gathered wood and began building a fire. This was no small campfire-cookout blaze, but a proper bonfire, and we cast the pack amid the flames.

Luckily, we had thought to stuff our ears full of flour beforehand. The pack burned clean away, and the book remained intact, singing its seductive promises of gourmand supremacy.

We discussed leaving it behind in the Nonstick Plains, but shuddered to think of it falling into younger, more naïve hands that would listen to its whispers. What we did next was something far more foolish – we brought it back home with us, now muffled in Cep’s backpack. Ever since, we have traded the book back and forth each year, watching one another and ensuring that the forbidden knowledge of the Necronomnomicon remains locked away.

* * *

Now, it is the first of July, and time for our yearly trade. I glance out the window as my noble steed pulls my carriage towards the Aromatic River, the natural border that marks the boundary between the Onion and Scallion Kingdoms. Times are tough, and to be honest, I fear having the Necronomnomicon in my possession once again. It takes such willpower to resist taking advantage of the dark secrets available at your fingertips.

Cep met me at the border, and the backpack lay on the ground. It looked unassuming and small, incongruous with the unspeakable evil that I knew it contained.

“Old friend,” I said.

He nodded at me, unusually quiet. Usually, we would stand around and chat for a while, but he clearly was not in the mood for idle chatter. I understood. It had been a rough year for everyone, and I had heard tell that his newest endeavor, Fries in the Sky, had not turned a profit for the entire year. Something else seemed off, but I could not put my finger on it. In hindsight, I wish I had confronted him then and asked what was wrong, but by the time I realized, it was too late.

Cep’s hands had been covered in flour. This, by itself, was nothing out of the ordinary. However, there had also been a darker substance on his hands. Originally, I thought it had been powdered chocolate, but now I realized what my senses had been trying to tell me. I hadn’t smelled a single whiff of cacao. Cep’s hands had been covered in flour…and dirt. And I was inclined to believe that it wasn’t from gardening. 

I reached into my emergency flour bag and packed my ears full. Ripping open the backpack, I spilled the contents out on the carriage floor – some musty flour, discolored rice, and – there it was – a book. At first glance, it appeared similar in weight and color to the Necronomnomicon, but closer inspection revealed that it was nothing more than a counterfeit. Taped to the cover was a simple note.

_My dear friend,_

_I’m sorry._

_\--Cep_

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: My sister and I have been trying to get 4-stars on every single Overcooked 2 level (since we've already gotten every single steam achievement). When I was taking a break from actual work, I wrote this silly little short story! Hope people enjoy.
> 
> Also, the dirt on Onion King's hands is grave dirt from summoning the UnBread - it's a smaller point that might fly over people's heads.


End file.
